


Nowhere Boy

by somethingtonotice



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, Homelessness, Hurt Peter, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Sokovia Accords, Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie), Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie) Spoilers, The Raft Prison (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-06-03 14:50:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19466272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingtonotice/pseuds/somethingtonotice
Summary: Spoilers for Spiderman Far From Home!!!Peter always thought he was pretty good at handling everything life threw his way. Grief, secrets, pressure, and homework seemed to bounce off of him no problem.But suddenly with his worst nightmare come to life, the full force of Thaddeus Ross on his tail, and what seems like the whole world turning against him, Peter is forced to learn that, sometimes, growing up is the bravest thing you can do.





	1. Nowhere Fast

**Author's Note:**

> lmao this has spoilers. I just had a lot of thoughts following the movie. So this is them!!

Most things, he found with enough practice, he could ignore.

  
Grief, he brushed off.  
When Ben died, Peter had locked himself in his bedroom for an afternoon, a tornado of sobs and snot, and then emerged in the evening, quiet and helpful, ready with a hug for his aunt and a bowl of instant mac and cheese.

  
Anger, he let flow by him.  
After everything the Vulture put him through, Peter had spent thirty minutes processing his rage and then unclenched his fists and went swinging around his neighborhood. He let it go, the man had just been trying to provide for his family. Misguided, sure but Peter could understand that.

  
Pressure, he thrived under. He had a secret identity for God’s sake.

  
The gnawing anxiety about growing up, the slowly increasing tension in his shoulder blades that was ruining his posture. Well, he could deal with that when he hit eighteen.

  
No worries, he had everything under control. Perfect Peter Parker, always quick with a smile and a helping hand. Never asking for too much, looking out for the little guy and never really looking out for himself.

  
Peter was good at acting like things did not bother him.

  
But in the middle of the crowd, with a screen blaring his deepest fear to millions of onlookers.

  
It was like someone had shoved him out of a warm shower and thrust him outside, naked for the entire world to see.

  
His entire life laid bare for speculation and comment. His worst nightmare, being realized. Just when everything seemed like it was looking up.

  
“Hey isn’t that him right there?”

  
“Yeah! That’s Spiderman!”

  
“ Hey, asshole!”

  
Peter barely acknowledged MJ’s shout for him as he webbed the farthest building he able to and raced away as fast as he could. His brain, seized up with preemptive dread for the oncoming storm, only could process the same blaring words over and over.

  
_Everyone knows._   
_And now, everyone hates him._

  
In one singular fabricated news segment, Spiderman’s entire legacy had been ruined. As he flew through the streets of Manhattan in an almost blind frenzy, he was only dimly aware of his phone buzzing in his suit’s pocket. Peter scrambled to the nearest rooftop, landing with a scrabbling thump. He began to try and catch his breath.

  
“Okay, okay, Peter, uh, um okay. Calm down.” He wheezed quietly to himself in a self-soothing mantra. “Alright, so everyone knows. And uh, it’s worst case scenario. And you’re in trouble, but uh, you, uh, gotta-” He coughed hard. Breaths coming out in metallic gasps. He had to breathe, to calm down. He slid down to the brick below him, back facing away from the bustling street below. Not for the first time he thought to himself:

  
_What would Tony do?_

  
_He wouldn’t care. He announced to the entire world as fast as he could that he was Ironman. When he got bad press, he embraced it and let it become apart of his untouchable persona. Nothing seemed to get to him, safe in his tower or compound, away from the noise and doubts of his character. He had Pepper do to damage control for him. When people spewed hate towards him, he laughed and agreed, sarcasm always lightly coating his tone._

  
_‘Because no one could hate Tony Stark more than Tony Stark already hated himself.’_ Peter thought bitterly.

  
Peter didn’t have the luxury of millions devoted to public relations. He didn’t have a Pepper. He didn’t have a legacy to hide in beyond the one he had been building for the last two to three years. No one could help him, at least, not right away. This didn’t have a quick fix.

  
For the first time since his parents died, Peter felt completely alone.

  
He felt tears well up in his eyes and he forced himself to gulp harshly, steeling himself to keep them at bay. He couldn’t let himself cry. At least, not yet. Not until-  
His phone buzzed again. Peter pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. May was calling. He picked up.

  
“May-” He gasped. It was hard to talk, there was an invisible hand around his throat, aching and clenching his airway until breath only snuck through as opposed to flowing.

  
“Peter! Sweetheart, are you alright? I saw the thing on the news-honey where are you?”

  
“May-” He tried again.

  
“Peter. Where are you? Lemme come and pick you up. I’ll take you home and this will all blow over, Happy-” She was talking a mile a minute, but Peter wasn’t listening.

  
“May!” He said firmly. She stopped. “Please, I’m sorry. But, I-I can’t come home. Not right now. It’s not safe.”

  
“Peter, I don’t care about that. The safest place for you is with me.” She said, her voice becoming watery.

  
“May, please just trust me. I’m-I’m gonna be okay. Promise you will be okay? Stay safe, I’ll do what I can, just, uh. I love you.”

  
“Peter. Listen to me I don’t want-” He hung up the phone and lightly tossed it to the side. Running a hand through his hair he sighed.

  
Would the police go after him? Now that Spiderman was a criminal?

  
Would the _government_ go after him?

  
He had heard horror stories, of the Raft prison, floating somewhere out in the middle of the ocean, no connection to the outside world. When you entered, you didn't come back. Thaddeus Ross, a name which in itself caused Peter to shudder, would certainly be on his case. If not to put him in jail, then to tag him, like some kind of animal, to make sure he stayed in his place. Toted out at government functions as a ‘prize of United States military prowess and strength’. Like they did to Bucky. He would never be free again.

  
Panic radiated off of him in waves, as he anxiously began scratching at his suit covered arms. It was itchy, sweat sticking to him, uncomfortably clinging both heat and salt to skin. If he didn’t remove it soon, he’d have a rash, he was sure of it. But he couldn’t bring himself to move more than his hands.

  
For not the first time, Peter cursed the day he had ever trusted Quentin Beck. If only he had been smarter, if he had seen Beck for what he was before he had gotten E.D.I.T.H then maybe, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Never before had he felt so dumb and used. Beck had used his vulnerability following the death of his mentor and wormed his way in. And just when Peter thought he could be a kid a little while longer, that was ripped away from him.

  
_What would Tony do?_

  
Tony would’ve never trusted Beck. He’d have seen right through him and nipped the man in his budding stages. There would have been no need for a Mysterio because there would have been Iron Man.

  
His two identities were transient within each other, the two coexisting peacefully. You could’ve had one without the other. But there could be a Peter Parker without Spiderman. And there could be a Spiderman without Peter Parker.

  
Peter thought that maybe he would’ve been able to deal with the world hating Spiderman.

  
Because at least then, he could be Peter Parker.

  
He wasn’t sure if he could deal with the world hating both.

  
His phone kept buzzing, he glanced over and saw texts and missed calls from May, Happy, Ned, one text from MJ. He lightly rolled his finger over the screen, scrolling through the messages of concern.

  
_Peter answer your phone._

  
_Dude!!! What’s going on?_

  
_Peter, are you ok?_

  
_Parker your aunt is worried. Answer your damn phone._

  
He knew he should. That was the right thing to do, but Peter wasn’t sure he was going to be able to give them something they would want to hear. He wasn’t actually sure that anything could be said to make this okay. As long as his face was associated with Spiderman, everyone who had ever wanted to hurt Spiderman would hurt the people he cared about. So it was better this way. Iron Man wouldn’t run from a fight, but Peter was no Iron Man. He’d proven that again and again.  
He needed to go underground. Stay out of the spotlight. Wait for this to blow over. Because it would, it always did. No matter what, superheroes always ended up being fine. That’s what happened with Captain America, right?

  
He just had to stay positive.

  
Things would work out. Just he had to stay away from everyone for a while so that they wouldn’t be associated with him. By that point, he will work something out, show the world that the video was fabricated, that Spiderman was the good guy.

  
Peter Parker was the good guy.

  
That he was just a kid from Queens who accidentally ended up being thrust on to the world stage of heroism a few years too early. A kid, who wanted to go back to being the friendly neighborhood Spiderman, helping old ladies and picking up litter after dark. A kid whose bravery had come with a mask which let him be all the things that Peter Parker could never be.

  
That when you stripped away the costume, tech, superpowers, and false bravado he was just a _kid_.

  
But until then, he had to go back to being anonymous. It would be hard, with his face and name plastered every which way, broadcasting every electronic device in the city, but Peter had always been good at keeping his head down. He had mastered it, blending in seamlessly to the high school crowds, never stepping out of line, always within the realm of what could be possible for a gangly 16-year-old boy. But it was time for him to grow up a little. No matter how much he desperately wanted to run into May’s arms and hide there, he had to be brave for a little longer. He didn’t care what happened to him, so long as his family stayed safe. For that, he had to keep them away.

  
Just for now, Peter Parker had to stop existing. Spiderman too.

  
Luckily, New York was the perfect city for anyone looking to disappear.


	2. Say Uncle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha I've never written bucky before, so hopefully, he's not too weird

Bucky hated meeting with government officials.

  
They were always overly formal and scheming, using words that took him a second to process before he saw their intended meaning. But, here he was, sitting in the waiting room, staring blankly at the receptionist’s hands as she typed madly away at her desktop. As was written in his ‘conditional’ (as Ross, in particular, liked to remind him) acquittal from any aforementioned crimes done with Hydra or since that point. He had to answer the call when asked, and do the job he was given.

Most of the time, it was easy.

They wanted ‘James Buchanan Barnes’ World War Two veteran and war hero. The touted him out to a few charity events, had him do PSAs, and give already written speeches to conventions. But sometimes...the job was less than pleasant.

Especially when Ross was involved.

He usually wanted Bucky to do the jobs no one else wanted to handle. Jobs involving enhanced individuals that couldn’t draw out too much attention. The jobs that made the good ‘up-standing’ Americans involved with S.H.I.E.L.D and the like, squirm and wake up at night screaming.

They didn’t care if Bucky himself woke up, sweat-drenched, metal arm clenched tightly around his own throat.

No, because Bucky was a soldier, he could _handle_ it.

The irony of his position was not lost to him. He had traded one master for another. At least this one let him keep his own apartment with assorted house plants and a window looking over a local park.

“Mr.Barnes? General Ross can see you now.” The receptionist’s sickly sweet voice intoned. Bucky nodded and stood up stiffly, walking to Ross’ familiar office door and opening it quickly, as to not to prolong their meeting more than needed.

“Sergeant. Have a seat.” Ross began talking to Bucky even as he had turned around to close the door. Clearly, Ross wanted the meeting over as quickly as he did. Bucky followed instructions, sitting down in the chair across from Ross. There was a large vintage desk between them, decorating with various wood carvings. Ross’ office itself looked like a tasteful shrine to himself, toting medals and photographs with famous and influential people he had met. There was even a framed copy of the Accords to the right of his massive window, as a glaring reminder to all those who had tried to stand against him.

Stood against him and won. Bucky thought to himself, readjusting his posture.

“What do you want?” He asked, his voice betraying both his disinterest in potential pleasantries and cautious apprehension at his possible task.

“Haven’t you heard? Stark’s puppy has broken off its leash. Gone rabid.” Ross said, a vindictive smile ghosting across his lips. “And mind your tone, James. You may not officially be in the army anymore, but I am your superior officer.”

“Yes sir.” Bucky grit out, trying to assuage his argumentative tone. “But, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Spiderman? _Peter Parker_? New York’s little scrappy-go-lucky vigilante? He’s gone and killed someone high profile. Publically. Something _you_ know a little about.”  
“What do you want me to do about it?”

“Without Stark here to protect him, he’s ours. We can finally take him in.”

“You do realize...that he’s just a kid right? From what I know, he doesn’t kill anyone. You sure this intelligence is right?” Bucky’s interactions with Spiderman had been fast and fleeting. They had fought in Germany, and though the kid packed a mean right hook, Bucky doubted that he was capable of killing anyone. He doubted Stark would’ve liked the kid so much if he was. Roughing them up a bit, sure, for the right cause, but not cold-blooded murder.

“It was broadcasted all over New York. All the billboards, advertising, whatever. So it doesn’t matter if the intel is correct or not. We have a chance to bring him in. Doesn’t matter if he’s a kid or not. Legally, the second he was enhanced, he lost all rights to trial, processing, the whole nine yards.”

Bucky always forgot how much he despised Ross until the man opened his mouth.

“And I suppose...you want me to take him to the Raft. A teenager.” Bucky said, through gritted teeth.

“And you’re gonna do it. Per your legal contract with the United States Government, or end up there yourself.”

“Damnit, Ross, I’m not your personal bounty hunter. Go send in your army to go get the kid if you want him so bad.”

“You’re whatever I say you are. He expects an army, he won’t expect a friend.”

Bucky stops and gives Ross a hard, frightened look.

“I’m not his fucking friend. I hardly know the kid.”

“Well, then pretend. You’re a spy-"

“Not a spy,” Bucky said quickly, in-taking sharply. “Not anymore.”

“Well, whatever you are, you’re going to get me Spiderman. Preferably already locked in a little cage, all ready for transport to the Raft.”

Bucky said nothing, his jaw locked as he looked obstinately out the window.

“Captain America... _Sam Wilson_. He’s making quite the stir. And yet, he’s conveniently avoided the US government, much like his predecessor. I can change that.” Ross drawled slowly, relishing in the fact that the second he said Captain America, Bucky was all his.

“Don’t touch him, you asshole,” Bucky growled, but the tension in his shoulders was dropping, a sign of his reluctant submission. “Leave him alone.”

“Why should I? If you violate our contract, I can violate my end as well.” Bucky sighed harshly, running a hand through his hair.

“Fine. I’ll do it. Extraction and ready for transport. That’s it.” There was a cold seeping into Bucky’s spine, his morality protesting against his words.

“Excellent. Everything you need will be on this flash drive.” And like the evil archetype of a man he was, Ross slowly slid a small black flash drive across the table. Bucky snatched it and put it in his pocket.

“Deadline?”

“Soon.”

“Vague.”

“Yes.”

“Fine.” Bucky stood up, and walked stiffly out of Ross’ office, ignoring the soft ‘goodbye’ of his secretary. He needed to be anywhere but there.

_What would Steve do?_

Steve wasn’t born with a silver tongue. He couldn’t’ve talked his way out of that. He would’ve probably punched Ross and gone and protected the kid himself. He’d found a way to make sure everyone was safe and that the bad guys were defeated. 

But Bucky was the bad guy. He hadn’t been a hero for a long time. Heroism didn’t suit him in the way it fit Steve like a glove, the way Sam could zip himself up in it like it was a second skin. Sometimes, in the darkest reaches of his mind, he almost missed no being able to feel anything. Because feeling made things a lot harder. And he knew that it didn't take much at all for Ross to convince him to capture the boy. Bucky was always going to make the wrong decision. Anxiety welled up in waves, crashing over his nervous system like an echoing fog horn.

_What would Steve do?_

Bucky was alone. And he had a friend to protect. Or a quasi-friend. He wasn't sure if Sam Wilson would ever be a friend, but he was a person who Steve had trusted and so, Bucky like the dutiful friend he was, was going to make sure that Wilson didn't have to deal with the full assholery of Thaddeus Ross and the US armed forces. Besides, maybe being the US government's lapdog was his penance for a lifetime irreversible trauma he inflicted on so many lives. Bucky wasn’t good at doing the wrong thing for the right reason. He didn’t prescribe morality to a job. Or at least, he was trying to. 

Maybe, that’s the Spiderkid that he was doing.

Maybe that’s why he supposedly ‘killed’ someone on national television or something.

He remembered seeing him during the fight against Thanos, how he zipped around the battlefield, plucky and encouraging, making sure everyone who went flying, was picked up safely. He saw the boy’s vulnerability at Stark’s funeral. The way he had collapsed into himself, sobbing quietly, as his shoulders shook, relying on no one for comfort but himself.

And now, Bucky was going to help send that kid hell.

He doubted that the Spiderman he had witnessed would ever do something evil of his own volition. There was another side to the story, there always was. But Bucky, once again, was left with half the book and an ultimatum. Sam would probably tell him to forget about it and protect the boy, but this wasn’t about Sam, not really.

The shield was Steve’s legacy.  
Whether the man would admit it or not, and he would not let Ross, the one man who Steve had despised, get his hands on it.

That shield was all he had left of that scrawny boy from Brooklyn who became something bigger than himself, who decided to go and the happy ending the world decided to keep from him.

_Who left Bucky behind to do so._

And Bucky’d protect that little fucker for as long as he could. And if he got his hands dirtier for it, then he’d figure it out.

_What would Steve do?_

It didn’t matter. Steve wasn’t here.


	3. Recessional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One last night together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> w e l p. here we are

_I’m cold._

Was the first thought the registered in Peter’s brain when he uncurled himself from around his ratty backpack. He stretched out like a cat, bones cracking. Yes, the abandoned warehouse he now called his home was not the most comfortable place to sleep. Everything was covered in a layer of dirt, the windows were cracked and let the wind in. Surely, the place was a relic from some bygone era. But it was uninhabited, and far enough from trouble for Peter to relax his hackles just a little. So, home it was. Or if not home, a resting place. 

He slept in one of the containers, protected somewhat by the wind, huddling into the corner. It wasn’t the most ideal of sleeping places, and Peter missed his bed. 

Peter felt his stomach growl and quickly opened his backpack. He emptied its contents on the floor beside him. A couple of wrappers, his wallet, his crumpled Spiderman suit, half a pack of gum, two travel size deodorants, a small can of dry shampoo, and a half-eaten granola bar. 

“Shoot.” He mumbled. He was running low on food. There was only so much he had access to, in this area. He had raided a vending machine last week, punching through the glass and stealing all the slightly stale and expired snacks, storing them away in an empty box in his container, but he didn’t want to risk eating those so soon. Peter sighed, slumping down on the floor, reaching for the granola bar. 

It had three months since the news about Spiderman had come out, but Peter was already at his wit's end. He was hungry, he was dirty, and he missed his aunt. And it was getting colder, late November was creeping into the corners of his makeshift hideaway.

Peter had thought that by now, at least things would’ve have blown over in New York City. 

But his face was still plastered over media outlets, people wondering if the ‘truth’ was really the truth. People had come to his defense, sure. Students at Midtown had actually stood up for him, saying there was no way that nerdy, unassuming Peter Parker could’ve been Spiderman. But then his disappearance started to look suspicious. And that’s when doubt began to trickle in.

He wasn’t front-page news, no, that belonged to whatever current political or financial situation was occurring through the day to day. But always, the ‘Hunt for Spiderman’ would appear in the corner of news stations, politicians would go on air and talk about the dangers of unregulated supers. 

Mysterio’s lies had caused a double-down in the enforcement of the Accords, which had been almost semi-forgotten during the blip. 

And it was all Peter’s fault. 

With not much to focus on besides his aching empty stomach and how greasy his hair felt, all that was left to do was wallow in self-pity. Peter didn’t have the energy to do much else. To pass time, he listed the things he was going to do when he was able to join the world again.

1.Hug May

He wanted nothing more than to see his aunt again. But if he focused on her too much, he’d get even more heartsick.

2\. Apologize to MJ 

Were they still dating? On a break? They needed to talk it out, and he doubted she would still want to be with a guy who was an accused international criminal. Or maybe, knowing MJ, that would add to his appeal. 

3\. Hang out with Ned.

He missed his best friend. He missed his jokes and building legos and everything else. 

4\. Eat a sandwich from Delmars. 

Peter wanted to eat as many sandwiches he could possibly fit into his body. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been truly full, and he craved it. His post-spider metabolism meant he digested food at an incredibly fast rate. And not being able to eat regularly was beginning to take a toll on his body. Scrapes on his knees and nicks on his knuckles that he had received a week ago, hadn’t fully healed. Which was just another thing to add to his list of things to worry about (which was already a mile long).

5\. He wanted to sleep a full night.  
  
6\. He wanted to finish High School. 

7\. He wanted to go to college, he wanted to graduate, he wanted a career, and he wanted to get married and live happily ever after.

He wanted everything that the past three months had denied him. Peter needed to be able to let the weight of the world roll off his shoulders. 

All alone, Peter fantasized about his future life surrounded by people he loved and who he loved in return. 

But he couldn’t. 

In the dark part of his brain, the part he didn’t like to acknowledge but found himself listening to more and more as isolation wore on him, Peter knew that even if the world no longer hated Spiderman, that he wouldn’t be able to shake off the stain on his reputation. 

_No one wanted anything to do with a murderer, even an alleged one._

He would always be looking over his shoulder. 

He was surprised that no one had found him yet. He didn’t know the first thing about being on the run. 

He spent the first month and a half expecting Happy to find him, holing up in his warehouse, amongst the dust and debris and take him to some safe house that Tony had created just in case something like this happened. 

But there was no safe house.

And there was no Happy. 

There was no one. 

Peter sighed, munching slowly at the granola bar, trying hard not to eat it too quickly lest he run out of food for the day. He was trying to limit his intake as much as possible. Sure, his snack pile wasn’t insignificant but there were too many variables to control, he had to make sure to keep planning ahead. Besides, he knew this place wasn’t permanent. 

The warehouse was just one in a string of locations Peter had been squatting in. Rundown houses, Street alleys, the occasional rooftop, all so he outruns people he weren’t even sure were actively chasing him. But his paranoia thrummed through his veins, forcing him to never get too comfortable, to stay away from those he loved, just keep moving. 

That's the way it had to be right?

All because of Quentin. 

But _God_ , he could use a May hug right about now. 

May and her burnt cookies, warming up cheap apple cider and pastries from the Dunkin Donuts a few blocks down the way. May and her cheeky wink as she woke him up too early on a weekend just so they could have breakfast together before her shift. 

May who tried to protect him and who he turned away. 

May who he _needed_.

Was she okay? 

Peter hadn’t been able to effectively check up on her, trying to both keep his low profile and to protect her from association with him. But it couldn’t be easy when your nephew was a supposed vigilante on the run. Anxiety was gnawing at him now, endless possibilities. 

Was she questioned?

Did she have everything she needed?

Had people come after her? 

Was she safe?

Was Happy with her? 

What was Happy _doing_ with her? 

Peter groaned, stomping his feet on the floor in an attempt to release some of the tension growing in his body. 

There was May and then was Ned and MJ, and everyone else he wasn’t able to protect. Because he couldn’t protect them from a jail cell. 

But what was the point of being free if he was missing in action? If he was hiding out in a dusty hole in the middle of who-cared-where?

_Coward._ The voice in his head whispered at him.

And Peter agreed.

Three months alone, protecting no one but himself. 

And Peter Parker wasn’t a boy built for selfishness. He had to do better, to be better. 

But he should stay away. He had to. 

There was no way he could win.

Damn his Parker luck.

But he had to stay firm, steadfast in his decision. Just like Mr. Stark would be. 

* * *

Two days later, he broke. 

Peter went home.

He peeked into his bedroom window, creeping along the fire escape. His lights were off, the door leading the living room was closed. Everything looked exactly like he had left it. Peter tested the window latch, expecting it to be locked. May hated leaving windows opened and the only reason she had abided by his bedroom one remaining unlatched was due to his Spiderman activities. If he was missing, she would’ve probably locked it. Peter jiggled it and found it open.

_She was waiting for him._

His heart surged, and he quickly lifted the window and shimmed through it. Carelessly throwing it closed behind him. 

Being careful didn’t matter, because May had left the window open. 

May was waiting for him. 

With the desperation of a child many years younger than him, he ran and swung open the door to the living room. 

There she was standing in the middle of the room.

Holding a bowl of takeout, eyes wide staring back at him. 

“May-” He choked out. 

She dropped the bowl and crashed to the floor and clambered over the couch barrier that kept her from her nephew. 

“Peter!” May took him into a tight bear hug., grasping at his hoodie, desperately clinging to him. He returned the gesture, eyes welling up. Her voice was soft, a whispered prayer that the disheveled boy who now stood in her living room. “Where the _fuck_ have you been?”

“May-I can’t stay-I gotta stay away, but I wanted to see you. I missed you so much, oh God May-” He sobbed, releasing emotions he hadn’t been sure he was holding on to. 

“No.” She said firmly, tightening her grip. “You’re staying with me.”

“May I can’t-”

“Yes. I don’t care. Peter, you’re a kid. You’re _my_ kid. And I’m gonna protect you.”

“I’m wanted for murder!” He pushed away May, big ugly tears streaming down his face. “May, you can’t protect me, I have to not be here, I can’t be here, this-I shouldn’t have done this, Oh God, I shouldn’t have-” He was hiccuping, his voice hitching as he struggled to talk and breathe at the same time. 

“Shh, Peter, baby, I’m here.” May attempted to soothe him, but Peter was too far gone into panicking. He shook his head. 

“May, they could hurt you, you don’t know, I just wanna protect you guys, and I’m so selfish.” He sobbed, babbling one sorry after another until finally, May gently, placed her hands on his shaking shoulders. Peter looked up. 

“I need you to breathe.” She said calmly, looking into his eyes deeply and calmly. And he did until his shuddering breaths evened out. “Peter, I love you.” She said once he had stopped shaking. “And I’ll love you no matter what bullshit they say. I need you to promise me something. Can you do that?” 

Peter nodded, his eyes wide. 

“Promise to not do this alone any longer, okay? Let us help you. Happy can get you someplace quiet until this all blows over. I don’t... want to know where you’ve been. I don’t have to know. You’re here now and you’re alive. And that’s all that matters to me. I need to know I’m not blaming you for anything. Okay?” 

“Okay.” He said quietly, feeling suddenly smaller than he had in a longer. 

“You’ll stay here tonight. I’ll call Happy and we’ll figure this out tomorrow.”

“ _May_.” Peter started into her, wrapping his arms around her once again. The blind desperation gone, only his love remained. The hug went on for what felt like hours and was exactly what Peter needed. 

May inhaled into his hair and then almost immediately scoffed. 

“Go shower, you smell like a rat. Your towel is still hanging on its peg. ” 

He laughed and nodded, letting go of his aunt and trotting obediently to the bathroom.

“When you’re done, come out and help me finish this takeout! You look half-starved!” May called after his retreating form. 

Peter smiled. 

Maybe things would be better. Sure, everything wasn’t magically fixed and there were still a lot of unanswered questions hanging in the air. But everything felt a little less immediate. 

He was _home_.

When Peter came out of the shower, all dressed in his coziest of PJs, May had cleaned up the bowl from the floor and made him a bowl of food. They sat on the couch, knees touching, not saying a word as they ate their food. Peter ate as much as his stomach let him, blissfully enjoying the feeling of hot food in his stomach, as opposed to the shitty granola bars and potato chips he had grown accustomed to. 

They watched whatever was on TV, aimlessly just enjoying the others company, in silent intimacy. Just happy to be together. And when Peter nodded off to sleep, he curled into May and she curled back into him. 

* * *

Across the street, a man staring into the Parker’s apartment loudly sighed. He watched as the two tearfully reunited in their living room, oblivious to the rest of the world. 

“Fucking idiot,” Bucky mumbled to himself, adjusting his binoculars and shifting around on his perch. He had an idea that the kid would eventually crawl back home, but he had hoped that he would not have been so obvious about it. Clearly, Spiderman was no spy.

Three months, he had convinced Pierce that he was playing the long game, lulling the vigilante into a sense of security where he would come over from his hiding place and cause less of a ruckus when captured. In truth, he was giving the situation time to blow over. But just his luck, the kid had managed to stay public enemy number one. 

Which, while admittedly made Bucky’s job easier, made his heart sink. He would have to rip the boy from his aunt and spirit him away someplace where they would never see each other again. 

Once more, Bucky was tasked with being the villain.

He couldn’t help it, he thought of his own family. Of his mother, ever kind and quiet. 

Of his father, removed emotionally, but whose love language was in firm pats on the shoulder and tickets to ball games. Of his sister, bubbly and bright, smart as a whip and twice as competent. 

They were all gone now. Dead for years, natural causes or illness, he had printouts of their obituaries pinned on his kitchen’s corkboard as a reminder of who he was, and who he had left behind. Sam said it wasn’t healthy, but Sam didn’t know jack-shit about Bucky. He only knew Steve Rogers’ Bucky, painted all pretty in rose-tinted glass. 

His family, locked away in some aged photograph, in the deepest reaches of his memory, something he still had trouble claiming as his own. 

What he would give to get to say another goodbye. Or at least, one last look.

So as he watched the Parkers, the older woman with her hands on her nephew’s shoulders, clearly a gesture of comfort to the whimpering boy, Bucky made a decision. 

He knew that he would have to bring the boy in, that much was unavoidable. 

But he could give them tonight. 

One last night together. 

He lowered his binoculars, and took a breath of the night air, relishing in the cool dampness that came with November. 

Tomorrow, he’d be the bad guy again.

He'd be the government’s bitch, he’d be Ross’ personal bounty hunter, he’d be the disgraced war hero, he’d be whatever. 

But for tonight, as he closed his eyes and laid down on the rooftop, Bucky felt the euphoric rush of not needing to be anyone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry that bucky's the bad guy idk


End file.
